


four times abbie and ichabod kissed and the one time he never knew

by lilabut



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t really a kiss. That’s what she told herself later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	four times abbie and ichabod kissed and the one time he never knew

**one**

After, she blamed it entirely on the unfortunate mixture of Red Bull and beer. She had been incredibly stupid not to tell Wendy to never let Crane near any sort of energy drink ever again. Really, she had meant to do it. But between witches and monsters and demons and pickled heads, Abbie had forgotten.

His initial dislike of the beverage, which she basically equaled to the air she breathed every day, had turned into a very unhealthy addiction after yet another sleepless night. And Ichabod Crane on Red Bull was her worst nightmare – she found pride in the fact that she was, in fact, allowed to use these words. Nightmares had, after all, become her specialty.

Several dishes, a candle stick, two remote controls and one phone had fallen victim to Crane ever since. Not that he didn’t break and crash enough things already.

The _incident_ , as Crane later chose to refer to it, however, she could not blame entirely on him. Abbie had the terrible habit of constantly making awful choices while drunk – and for the last year especially, she had tried very hard to forget about the one involving Andy.

She should have known. There was no way this day could have ended well. Exactly one year after Corbin had died, and after yet another sleepless night, the ice cold bottles of beer in the fridge seemed to good to ignore.

It was not how she had planned this day. For the last year, she had imagined what it would be like. Going to the diner again for the first time since that night, ordering apple pie which she had never liked, and standing by Corbin’s grave to tell him how he had had no right to die.

How, instead, she had ended up on her couch next to Crane – smelling awfully like sugar and molten wine gum – she could not recall. Neither did she know why they were laughing so hard her belly hurt. Or why exactly she had started to move closer and closer to him.

What she remembered all too vividly, however, was her hand suddenly laying on Crane’s chest, his heart beating way too rapidly after the five empty cans scattered all over her floor. How he smiled down at her, completely oblivious. How she never actually made a real choice to do what she did. To push herself up – why did he have to be so damn tall, even sitting down? - and kiss him. It was neither a long kiss nor a deep one. She might have even missed his mouth a little and he never kissed her back, simply staring at her blankly before she pulled back.

_Forgive me, Miss Mills._

_No, I was- Forget it._

It wasn’t really a kiss. That’s what she told herself later.

**two**

Losing Corbin had been like losing a father. Only, he had not been her father. Instead, Abbie tried to imagine what it would feel like to lose Jenny. But not even that felt like enough pain. She could not imagine what Crane felt like.

She did not _want_ to imagine.

Looking at him was painful enough. The agony in his every breath. Every tremble of his hands clutching her arms.

To lose his wife after everything they had gone through, after the last three years that had claimed so many lives and during which they had faced so many terrors – Abbie wondered if there had ever been any justice in the world.

There was a part of her that wanted to cry, wanted to mourn Katrina Crane. But she had never been close to her, had felt that there was something wrong. That Ichabod was her victim, simply a pawn in a bigger game that unfolded more and more every day. Abbie felt bad now for thinking like this. Still, no tears came, and all she could do was try to push away the image of her dead body, and hold on to Ichabod as he collapsed onto the ground.

She sank onto her knees with him, surprised by how heavy he was, resting all his weight against her. There were no words that seemed right. No comfort that would have been genuine.

Instead, she said nothing, simply holding him tightly as his warm tears soaked her blouse. Something inside of her broke, his pain transferring into her veins, pulsating so harshly that she began to tremble herself.

After a while, and she was more thankful for it than she had been for anything in a long time, his sobbing calmed down, short and ragged breaths replacing it. He lifted his head, the physical effort behind it so obvious that Abbie was tempted to help him. Only her own fatigue kept her hands around him at bay.

She would never forget his face. Bloodless, set in stone, covered in dried trails of tears, eyes empty, not even the pain evident anymore. It was as if he was gone.

Too weak to hold up his head, Ichabod’s forehead came to rest against hers, and she could feel the coldness of his skin seeping into her own.

Fresh tears began to run down his cheeks, melting into hers, and when his trembling lips suddenly brushed against hers – softly, yet so demanding, filled with anger, grief and sorrow – she allowed her eyes to flicker shut. _No_ , she whispered, turning her head only far enough away to end what she did not dare to call a kiss. _You’re going to hate yourself_. And me, she thought, the prospect too horrible to even think about.

She never knew if he even heard her words, or even remembered what had happened. Never once did she bring it up in the years to follow. When the memory did haunt her, she wondered if she had not imagined it entirely.

**three**

Abbie’s eyes flickered briefly to the alarm clock by the bed.

3:02am.

She sighed, and moved closer to Ichabod, his arm instinctively pulling her against him.

This was not how she usually handled this kind of thing. Not at all. She never stayed overnight. She never had. But… this was _her_ place. And that certainly never happened.

_You should sleep_ , Ichabod suddenly whispered, and Abbie wondered if he had known all along that she was awake, pondering over how silly it would be to slip out of his arms and into her own bed down the hall, only because _she didn’t do this_. Ever.

_So should you._

He laughed then – why on Earth would he laugh? - and her hand trembled as she felt his heartbeat beginning to pick up.

_What’s so funny?_

_Nothing._

She propped herself up on her elbows, messy hair covering more of her face than she liked. _Then why are you laughing?_

_I am not sure._ His smile faded as his hand reached out, catching a loose strand, tucking it back behind her ear. _I am not sure about anything anymore_. His hand lingered, and sadness began to fill the air around them.

Abbie knew what he meant, felt stupid for allowing this to happen. Perhaps it had been a long time coming. Perhaps inevitable in the long run. But was she not strong enough to not let it happen? To look at Crane and think about their purpose instead of…

_I should go._

He nodded, yet his hand remained still. Breathing in deeply, Abbie leaned down, meeting him halfway in a kiss she finally was willing to call so. One she did not want to end, one that lingered. When they parted, Abbie turned away with a heavy heart.

This was not how it usually was. This was Ichabod Crane.

She grabbed her shirt from the edge of the bed, but let it drop the same second. What difference did it make now? Naked she stood, his hand brushing her arm for a brief moment before she felt him turn over, and she slipped through the door into the hallway.

Second, perhaps minutes, she spent lingering behind the door, hand pressed flat against it, wondering what this meant. Now that it had happened.

**four**

Three words. Three short words and here she stood, staring at him in absolute disbelief.

_Do forgive me for being so forward. But I could no longer-_

Abbie’s hands were around his neck before she could properly understand what he had said, and she swallowed any more words that might confuse her with her lips. Fear was predominant as she held onto him, as she sighed into his mouth when his hands came to rest on her waist. Fear of what those words meant. Of the harms they could bring.

_Just… never say that again_. She mumbled in the split second that their lips parted, before Ichabod pulled her flush against him. _Please_.

**five**

They had known. Had figured out the full meaning behind the merged bloodlines years ago. Had known this day would, if they were to be successful, eventually come.

Still, as Abbie sank onto her knees next to Ichabod’s lifeless body, the horseman’s cold, dark blood coating her hands, she felt as unprepared and overwhelmed as if she had never known at all.

He looked peaceful, almost like none of the horrors they had witnessed had never taken place, all sorrows and all pain wiped from his features.

_It’s over_ , she whispered, leaning down to softly press her lips against his, awaiting no response but longing for one more than ever. Longing for his arms to wrap around her once more like he had done that night. Instead, her bloody fingers nimbly grabbed his, heavy as death began to finally, after all these centuries, began to claim him. _We made it_.

But in the end, all that was left was her.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a mixture of what I'd like to happen, and what I fear will happen in the end. The first thought that came to my mind when Katrina brought up the bloodlines, was that Ichabod might die along with the horseman, given that he was awakened with him.


End file.
